Baby step onto the elevator... baby step into the elevator... I'm *in* the elevator

Despondent.  That's pretty much the word.  Once the afterglow of somehow The Horny Cat 69 being a "success" wore off, I found myself sitting on the couch alone on Sunday.  I was as glum as it gets.  I blame it on my own frame of mind as much as any outside factors, but the lack of clear instructions when I left the ER didn't give me much clarity or what some call "hope."

Without getting into the details too deeply, I didn't know much about the follow-up appointment(s), when I could get my leg brace off, dressing protocols, and any idea when to expect anything to happen.  Thus me asking what I now feel like was a stupid question on FaceBook regarding anxiety about bending my knee for the first time after stitches.

It took a bunch of phone calls (and voice mails) to cut through the confusion before finally getting some answers.  I was outta the leg brace on Wednesday (as opposed to seven days post-visit as I was told by one or two of the many people that played around in my meat at the ER), I was allowed to wash everything, let the sutures be open to the air, and start bending my knee as comfort allows... which was awfully welcome because my calf was forgetting what walking is.

I eventually agreed to letting The Pie drive me over to the scene of my accident.  She was driving me to and from work every day, and hobbling around at .25X my normal speed and only doing office work made me feel even more frustrated until my leg was released from captivity, so the glimmer of hope made it easier to go look at what I'd done to myself.

I felt less stupid once I figured out what happened, found out that it's occurred previously when people rode through the flat grass bit (but there's death hiding in there), and that others almost ate shit (but didn't) taking the same line at The Horny Cat 69.  

Making the most of the weekend, I followed through with plans to go to the Pisgah Monster Cross on Saturday with my Spoke Easy frands and teammates.  Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever assured me that he'd find something for me to do, a VIP parking spot, and all the beer I could eat if I came.

Although it's hard to see people heading out on an adventure you'd planned to do yourself, mebbe you get used to it.  I got to witness just how calm it is to promote a race and wait a few hours for the riders to come back... and also how exciting it can be when it's time to swap the START sign out for the FINISH sign minutes before the leaders roll in.

This is how the sausage is made.  I could not lend a hand in this sausage making party tho.

I saw the first mechanical DNF (thus the tapping of the kegs at 9:30AM).  The first medical situation.  The second medical situation.  Finally, the lead two riders coming in... which was awesome.   Wienke Brooks and Hallstrom Lars (those are their real names) coming in to the cyclocross barriers side-by-side after four hours and fourteen minutes of heated racing.  Apparently, it was at least Wienke's second rodeo but probably Hallstrom's first, because when they got to the barriers, Wienke started leaping and Hallstrom came to a dead stop.

As Cosmo Catalano would say, "... and that's how the race was won®."

After that, I found the very nice camera that Steve Barker of Icon Media Asheville had left on the timing table.  Figuring Eric was busy doing Eric stuff, I engineered a way to lanyard it to my wrist using hair ties (I don't really need them anymore) so I could be confident that visits to the keg between photos wouldn't put me at financial risk. 

I then took like a billionty finish line and podium photos (Steve's better and harder earned action photos are there too) as if I knew what I was doing.  I'd taken photography class in college, but back then our cameras were wooden boxes with a sheet you'd drape over your head.  I'd imagine if Steve posts any blurry images, assume those are mine (they came out okay, so I guess his camera > wooden box).

I honestly had a great time doing it.

Also, props to my Spoke Easy teammates, Barlow, Burke, Dr Mike, and Bill Nye on their respective finishes but more so for the fact that I'm pretty sure they were the last racers sitting around the keg until everyone else finished.  "Winning" doesn't always mean coming across the finish line first, although in Wienke's case, it totally did.

To round out my weekend...

I'd promised myself I'd bug Türd to rebuild all my Kashima coated bits... if there was ever a rainy day... when we were doing nothing... and we both had some free time.

He serviced four forks (three mine, two his) and one rear shock in three hours aided only by my ability to take the bikes apart and put them back together between the servicing... and possibly slowed down by my looking in all his drawers and boxes and asking "what's this for?"  Sure, I mighta put the wrong wheel on the right bike, but what does that matter?

Yeth, that really happened.

Finally, I was able to ride my garvel bike into work on Monday, ending my longest off-the-bike streak of eight consecutive days since something like 1989 (I can't include a trial run Sunday evening to see if my knee part would bend enough yet).  I've gone from the paralyzing old person fear of suddenly tripping while walking to the slightly less older person fear of my bike suddenly coming out from under me for no reason...

which never happens, emmaright?

Baby steps.